WRECKED 32 31

''Auntie Anaya, I hope you can join us this evening."

The girl, Jidda, was one of those who had lost their family in a Boko Haram attack. There were four bullet holes in her and she had contracted pneumonia for staying out in a ditch for more than two days. She was nineteen. She had been in Lake Alau for three months and had at last been contacted by a close family relation; most of the girls had established contact with a family or relation and were ready to leave. Some would be leaving for the camps created by the government of Borno to care for these girls. Some of them would join a skill acquisition class and be given capital to start up their business. The miserly sum horrified Anaya when she heard of them. Before she opened her home to the girls, she had spent a year's income for some of the displaced on a new evening gown or lace material.

She remembered how she had argued with Jubril when he showed her the letter from the government house, requesting her to release the girls for adequate care.

"Adequate care my foot! Do they think I'm stupid? The girls got the best care here. I can beat my chest about that."

"I know that, Anaya, but you can't challenge the government on this. The girls will have to go to the shelter."

"I'm not releasing Laraba; and Hauwa has insisted she's not going."

"She's not a victim of war, my dear."

"She is a victim still. She had fistula—"

"From a traumatic childbirth! You should ask her who impregnated her or what she was doing when she got pregnant."

"I won't ask her. No need to bring back unpleasant memories.

The good thing is that she's fine now."

"Get the other girls ready," Jubril said to Anaya as she rummaged through the table for a something.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and with a smile of triumph, Anaya raised up a newspaper and began flipping the pages hurriedly.

"Here it is, Jubi." She stabbed her long red fingernails on a column. "Here it is. Listen. Let me read." And she began.

…for now, of all the 27 local government areas in the state, only about ve are safe while residents of the remaining 25 councils are either living in perpetual fear of attacks by insurgents or have ed to neighbouring Chad, Niger and Cameroon.

Though now spared of the bloodletting of the insurgents, the refugees are being ravaged by disease and the elements, especially with the onset of the raining season. Perhaps worst hit are those in Damboa, one of the most devastated local government areas. The story of the displaced people camped at Government Girls' Secondary School, Biu, is indeed epic.

The state commissioner for health has confirmed that 27 of the hundreds of refugees in the camp infected by cholera died in the last few weeks. At least 14 women were delivered of babies, while it was gathered that two people were bitten by snakes. A week earlier, over 15,000 of them were staying at the camp and thousands of others at the Central Primary School Biu, but many had to leave because of what the IDPs described as "unfriendly challenges." Some of them relocated to Maiduguri, the state capital, others to nearby Gombe State…

"And it goes on. Did you hear that, Jubril? Cholera, snake bites and other horrors…"

"Things might have improved now. Do as the government has asked Anaya." He commanded as he walked out of the house.

Now, with sadness in her heart, Anaya looked at Jidda as she spoke.

"We're planning a little party for you," Jidda said. "We wanted it to be a surprise, but you can't keep much of a secret around here. So will you come and join us after supper?"

"I'd be delighted," she said. "How sweet of you – I don't deserve a party."

Jidda had a cheery laugh. "Oh, yes, you do! The girls would not leave here without saying thank you. I certainly wouldn't. About seven o'clock, then?"

"Seven will be fine," Anaya felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Jidda looked so young, and her breezy manner hid the anguish of having lost her parents and siblings. Anaya had seen that side of a coin when she first came. The girl had learned how to cry on her shoulder. Anaya smiled and thanked her again, saying what fun it would be. Jidda hesitated for a moment, "Ma, please put on something nice for us. The girls would love it…if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course I will," Anaya answered. "I'll find something special."

Eni helped her to choose a pretty dress. It was a bright blue Italian lace sh-skirt and fitted blouse.

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"You look beautiful, ma," Eni said. She was a beauty no doubt, Eni thought proudly. She couldn't look plain if she wore an old potato sack. And that long hair was a wonder. Eni had helped her style it and put a silver ower hairpin at the back. "There, now. Perfect."

The girls gathered in the hall below, and when Anaya came down the stairs, they gave a spontaneous cheer. Jidda came up and took her hand.

"You look beautiful, ma. Now," she said addressing the other girls in the room, "Let's raise our glasses of juice and give a toast to auntie Anaya and all who help her run this place. We'll always think of it as home. Don't ever let it go, will you?"

"Never," Anaya promised. "You'll all have to come and see me from time to time. My doors will always be open to you."

There was another cheer and then all twenty-two girls were jostling to get near and talk to her. There was a call for silence by a girl who had survived third-degree burns on her hands and chest. She had made contact with her grandparents and was going to join them in Jos. "We want to say thank you for everything," she announced. "We'll never forget you. And, because we are such a conceited bunch, as you probably realised" – there was a rippled laugh that died immediately— "we don't want you to forget us. So we'd like you to accept this."

It was wrapped up with a shiny paper and ribbon, and Anaya tore it open. There was a group photograph in a handsome silver frame. It was engraved: TO MRS. ANAYA RUFAI. FROM HER GIRLS. 2015. Twenty-two girls in two rows, all smiling at her. Twentytwo names written by each one at the end of the photograph. She looked at it, and then at them.

"This goes on my bedside drawer," she said, "where I'll see it every morning. This means I will think of you every morning. You have given me something I will treasure. God bless you." It was a moment captured in time for many of them; the sight of Anaya in a blue dress at the end of the great staircase would remain when other memories had faded. And she made it permanent by turning and running upstairs with the photograph clasped in both hands as if she couldn't trust her smile to stay in place.

Chapter end